Thrift Store Boots and Gucci Suits
by mellowship
Summary: "Like Bradley Cooper's relationship with Renee Zellweger, some things in life just defy explanation. This newly incessant fluttering in my stomach at the sight of Dan Humphrey? Is one of those things." DB one-shot, Blair's POV. Slight S4 spoilers.


**Thrift Store Boots and Gucci Suits**

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**Acutely aware of the shuffling noises being made around me, I stifle an annoyed groan and curl my legs up beneath the big, blue comforter. The winter season's always been my second favorite season next to autumn, mainly because it gives me an excuse to stay in bed for longer than normal. Apparently, that won't be the case today, though, because _somebody_ can't seem to keep their clumsiness to a minimum.

As if on cue, a deep voice hisses, "Fuck!"

Such a lovely wake-up call, am I right?

Fumbling as I push my eye mask up on my forehead, I roll across the bed and peer down at a huddled mass of taut flesh. Unable to refrain from smiling, I raise a brow and look on in amusement. "Of all the wonderful qualities you possess, gracefulness is clearly not one of them."

Wide, strong hands grasp at my nightstand for support as my recently acquired boyfriend gets to his feet with a sheepish grin. "Your wit astounds me," he laughs, tugging at the waistband of his boxers as he continues, "I was gonna go get some water, but, uh, yeah, obviously that didn't happen. I did manage to get this great bruise, though."

"Bruised or not bruised, Humphrey, you are still a klutz," I tease lightly, biting my cheek as my eyes drift towards his abs, sculpted to near-perfection (I mean, who could possibly surpass Brad Pitt in _Troy_?). My heart starts racing and I scold myself inwardly, because as much as I want to have a repeat of last night, a brunch date with my best friend Serena awaits me, and it's already taken me long enough to get her to agree to it.

Here's the thing S doesn't get, though: Like Bradley Cooper's relationship with Renee Zellweger, some things in life just defy explanation. This newly incessant fluttering in my stomach at the sight of Dan Humphrey? Is one of those things.

Unlike most other aspects of my life, this whole _thing_ I've got going on with Humphrey hasn't been planned. Sure, we'd schemed over a platonic cup of coffee, and, okay, maybe he helped me out for my internship project, but I never imagined that Starbucks and W Magazine could lead to this. I suppose my Humphrey liaison hasn't come entirely out of left field because, after all, it had been me who told Serena… what was it again?

Oh, yeah. _Coffee is_ _the thing you have before you pay the check to go have sex_. I should get a medal for my astuteness.

Cupping my cheek – and stirring me out of my thoughts – Humphrey leans down and kisses me softly on the lips. When he kisses me, it's not too soft and not too rough. It's warm and romantic and everything a kiss should be.

It's perfect.

Wrapping my arms around him, I roll gently on my back and rake my nails down his chest. It's a pretty alien feeling, Humphrey's defined body resting on top of mine. He's slightly heavier, slightly muskier, slightly, well, _cleaner_ than Chuck, and I'm still getting used to the sensation.

"You okay?" Humphrey asks, brushing back some loose strands from my forehead and looking at me intently with those dark, penetrating eyes of his.

"Mhm," I sigh, turning my neck to the side and shivering indulgently as he nips at the exposed flesh.

When the sound of Death Cab For Cutie starts blaring from Humphrey's cell phone, I curse the existence of polyphonic ringtones. Humphrey groans and leans over me to grab his phone from my nightstand. "My dad," he explains, before falling beside me in the bed with his cell to his ear.

As Humphrey chats on the phone with Rufus, I close my eyes, my hand fluttering subconsciously to my stomach.

Speaking of stomachs, I've noticed that mine's gotten a little Mariah-like lately, which really? Is not okay. I blame it on the croissants Humphrey always arrives at my place with. Despite his knowledge of my love for all things pastry, I imagine he's buttering me up to ask my permission for Nate's hand in marriage – their bromance is giving Ben and Matt a run for their money. Whatever the reason, those damn croissants are making it very difficult for me to fit into my clothes.

I'd bet anything that Humphrey's noticed I'm packing on the pounds like Britney post-K-Fed, but he's too nice to say anything...

As Humphrey continues chattering away, I can't help but contemplate what a strange concept that is. Nice. Is anyone _truly_ nice? I don't think so. Hell, even Humphrey's almost crossed over to the dark side, and that's pretty significant seeing as how a mere two years ago, he pretty much acted like he was in the running for canonization.

Ha, Saint Humphrey. He'd be the patron saint of thrift stores and encyclopedias. Well, maybe just encyclopedias, because these days he's been wearing designer clothes, as demonstrated by the discarded Gucci slacks lying on the floor.

Eyes fluttering momentarily to Humphrey, who's currently getting quite heated over something involving the merits of cufflinks, I can't help but smile.

I have to admit, new money suits him (and so does Gucci).

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_AN: Writing in 1__st__ person was so weird! I think I usually have a good idea about Blair's motivations and thoughts but I thought it would be fun to show things from her actual POV. So, let me know what you guys thought!_


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